The passage through the tunnel was swift, but no less breathtaking. Darkness clung to the edges, pushed back only by the faint, ambient glow leaking in from both ends. No guards patrolled the inner corridor—only the sentries at the entrance had checked them before waving them through without incident.

  Colin used the short time inside the passage to look up, marveling at the sheer scale of the cavern overhead. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, and at its peak, glittering veins of gemstones caught what little light there was. The colors shimmered—blues, greens, deep reds—but Colin couldn’t name them, only admire their cold, distant beauty.

  It was like standing inside a frozen night sky.

  The tunnel ended too soon. As they stepped through a shimmering haze of light at the far side, Colin flinched, throwing up a hand to shield his eyes. The setting sun blazed through the narrow mountain peaks, stabbing the landscape with golden spears of light.

  The sight stole his breath. For a moment, he simply stood there, stunned, absorbing the sheer, overwhelming beauty—the endless sweep of rugged land, the molten sky, the burnished glow of distant forests.

  But there was no time to linger.

  Grayne’s sharp bark of orders snapped Colin from his reverie. The caravan wheeled off the main path, pulling into a broad clearing. Wagons were parked in tight lines behind Grayne’s own, forming a makeshift barricade against whatever dangers might lurk beyond the rocky spires.

  Bram, ever the seasoned traveler, led the Dusk Rose forward with quiet authority toward the nearest cluster of buildings. They passed beneath a worn wooden arch bearing the faded symbol of a tankard, the smell of roasting meat and woodsmoke curling in the air.

  Colin took note of the town’s strange construction. It was a city of caverns—shops and homes carved directly into the rock, their dark mouths yawning open along the streets.

  Interspersed between them were wooden structures, cobbled together from rough timber, giving the whole place a rugged, half-forgotten charm.

  At the center of it all loomed a massive stone spire, its surface studded with veins of brilliant gemstones. As the sunset caught its many facets, the spire came alive, scattering prisms of color across the surrounding buildings.

  Colin found himself unable to look away, hypnotized by the shifting dance of light.

  As they crossed into the outskirts of the town, Colin cast one last look over his shoulder at the dying light—feeling, somewhere deep inside, that the night ahead would not pass as quietly as the sunset suggested.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  In the deepening shadows beneath the setting sun, a lone figure watched the Dusk Rose from afar. A long, blue tail flicked slowly behind it, the only sign of its restrained agitation.

  A forked, reptilian tongue flicked into the air, tasting the city’s scents—dust, sweat, and something more elusive. Predatory eyes gleamed under the hood, locked onto the group as they disappeared into a lonely tavern clinging to the city’s edge.

  Silent steps carried the figure to a narrow, forgotten alley. A door stood there, half-concealed by crates and debris, leading into the back of the tavern.

  The cloaked figure reached for the handle.

  The door creaked open.

  Pain bloomed across the figure's throat—sharp, precise, absolute.

  The Rex’lan stumbled, gasping, clawing at a neck that no longer held breath. Warm blood poured between trembling fingers. A hand gripped his shoulder. A whisper, soft as silk, brushed against his ear:

  "Now... why in the world would you be following us?"

  The voice was low, almost musical—light as birdsong. Almost kind. Almost.

  The Rex’lan collapsed soundlessly. Vines burst from the ground, snaring his body and dragging it under. The earth sealed itself without a trace, leaving only a faint stain of red behind.

  From the deeper shadows, a figure straightened and pulled back her hood.

  Nectarine brushed her braid over one shoulder, her face unreadable in the twilight. She lingered for a moment, staring at the ground where the body had vanished.

  She hadn’t been careful enough.

  Either someone had discovered them... or something worse was brewing in Hallowed Deep.

  Neither possibility left room for mistakes.

  Nectarine adjusted the satchel across her back, her expression hardening into something colder.

  It was time to finish the mission.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  Colin was sitting at a table, enjoying a fresh mug of ale when Nectar returned from the bathroom. He smiled and waved her over.

  As she approached, something caught his eye—a splotch of deep red staining the sleeve of her shirt.

  “Hey, Nectar… you’ve got something on your shirt,” Colin said, frowning slightly. His voice carried worry—and just a bit of confusion.

  “Oh that? Just something I spilled during lunch earlier.” Her lie came quick, casual. But it rang loud and hollow in Colin’s ears.

  He stared for a heartbeat longer than he should have. “It looks like blood. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, Colin. I promise it’s not blood. Probably just juice.” She smiled, too quickly.

  Colin nodded, forcing himself to drop it. There was something wrong, but now wasn’t the time. He shifted the conversation instead.

  “Want a drink?”

  “Yes, please. Something cold and fresh,” Nectar said, brightening a little as she turned to the bartender.

  The man, a large reptilian, grunted and pulled out a vibrant pink drink. Colin watched him carefully—the way he handled the cup, the way it frosted at the rim under his touch.

  He wasn’t a Rex’lan. No sibilance. No reptilian stiffness. Just a lizardfolk, he realized.

  Colin chatted lightly, smiling when appropriate, but inside, a storm was brewing. He could feel it coming—the moment.

  Tonight, he had decided. No more lies.

  He paid for the drinks, and together they returned to the table where the rest of the Dusk Rose were gathered. Bram caught his eye, gave a small, knowing nod, and clapped a heavy hand on the table.

  The tavern noise faded as Bram raised his hands. A shimmering bubble of magic expanded outward, enclosing their party. A ward against eavesdropping.

  Bram’s voice was gruff but kind. “Friends, it’s time fer another restin' period. But first… our lad Colin ‘as somethin’ to say.”

  Colin stood, heart hammering so hard he swore the others must hear it. His hands trembled slightly as he clasped them in front of him, forcing his breathing to slow.

  A part of him screamed to sit back down, to keep the secret buried. Another part—stronger—urged him forward.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  He cleared his throat, voice shaking. “I… I just wanted to start by saying thank you. For saving my life. For training me. For trusting me.”

  The words felt inadequate.

  The faces around the table blurred for a moment as emotion stung his eyes. He squeezed them shut, exhaled, tried again.

  “I owe you all more than I can say. But there’s something else—something you deserve to know.”

  He hesitated. Nectar was looking up at him with wide eyes, her fingers white-knuckled around her drink. Lyra was chewing her bottom lip. Kae’s hand had drifted closer to the hilt of his blade, almost unconsciously. Sskarin’s tail twitched, wrapping tighter around the leg of her chair.

  They were ready for a fight if this went bad.

  They deserved the truth.

  “I’m… not from here.”

  Kae scoffed. “Yeah. We figured, farmboy.”

  “No. Not like that.” Colin shook his head fiercely. “I’m not from this world. I’m… I’m an Otherworlder.”

  Silence fell like a blade.

  The word seemed to suck the air from the room. Sskarin dropped her drink with a clatter, her jaw slack. Nectar’s expression twisted—shock, guilt, intrigue—all flashing across her face like ripples across a pond. Lyra just looked awestruck. And Kae... Kae only frowned, deep in thought.

  “How?” Kae asked quietly.

  Colin swallowed hard. “I don’t know. I died in my old world. An accident. I remember... cold. Blood. Then I woke up here. Alone.”

  He forced the words out through a throat thick with grief.

  The wall inside him cracked.

  He dropped his gaze to the floor, trembling. Shame, guilt, fear—they all surged up at once, a tidal wave he couldn't hold back.

  Then—A hand found his. Fingers interlocking.

  Lyra. Silent, steady, offering him her strength.

  Arms wrapped around his waist from behind—warm and trembling. Nectar. He caught the faintest hitch in her breath, a buried sob.

  Kae stepped forward and rested a hand on Colin’s shoulder, grip firm. Solid. Present.

  Even Sskarin, silent as she was, looped her tail gently around his ankles—an odd but strangely comforting gesture.

  And Bram—the unshakeable dwarf—clasped his other hand between calloused palms.

  The dam inside Colin trembled.

  "Thank you... for trusting us," Nectar whispered against his back.

  "We may not understand," Kae said, his voice low but steady. "But we’ve got your back."

  Lyra said nothing. She just squeezed his hand and smiled—a small, luminous thing that told him everything he needed to know.

  Sskarin gave a short nod, tail tightening slightly.

  Bram’s voice, when it came, rumbled with solemn authority.

  “Members of the Dusk Rose. Knowin’ what ye know now… knowin’ the risk ye place on yer own heads…Will ye accept Colin as one of our own, truly and forever?”

  The answer came as a chorus of yeses—quiet, but firm.

  The tension broke. Relief flooded Colin’s body.

  But beneath it all—something else.

  Guilt.

  Loss.

  Memory.

  The wall inside him cracked wider.

  Emma’s laugh. His little sister’s hug. His mother’s pride.

  They flooded in, too fast, too raw.

  He gasped, clutching at his head.

  The Wall inside him fought, desperate to rise again—but it was too late.

  The Wall shattered.

  The memories—all of them—rushed in like a tsunami, sweeping him off his feet.

  I tried to hold it back. Sorry, kid.

  The Star-Walker’s voice, sorrowful and distant.

  Colin’s knees buckled.

  The last thing he felt were his friends' hands catching him as he collapsed into darkness.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  Colin was in the Void.

  He remembered.

  Everything.

  His old life slammed into him with brutal force—faces, voices, moments once buried now howling through his mind like a hurricane.

  The pain was indescribable.

  Each memory felt like a knife, carving raw emotion into the walls of his skull. Love, loss, guilt, hope—every feeling he had suppressed since arriving in this world now erupted all at once, clawing for space in his overwhelmed mind.

  His brain felt like it was tearing itself apart.

  For a desperate moment, he thought the Void—this strange, empty space—might shield him, might absorb some of the storm raging inside.

  It didn’t.

  There was no refuge. No escape. Only the chaos of who he had been, and who he was becoming, colliding violently within him.

  The Star-Walker's voice came through the maelstrom—warm, but distant, as if calling to him from across an endless sea.

  Hold strong, Colin. Hold strong.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  The first night passed in a blur of panicked, frantic activity.

  Bram and Kae carried Colin’s limp, convulsing body upstairs, their faces grim with urgency. Nectar and Lyra rushed to find Grayne, alerting him to Colin’s condition, while Sskarin, at Bram’s terse request, gathered as many supplies as she could carry.

  When they finally regrouped in the small, dimly lit room, Colin’s body had stopped its violent spasms. He lay still now—too still. His breathing was shallow, but steady, and that was the only reassurance they had.

  Bram did what he had to.

  He explained everything.

  What an Otherworlder was.

  What it meant for Colin.

  What it meant for all of them.

  The words weighed heavy in the air, and Bram watched each face carefully, searching for signs of fear, doubt, or betrayal.

  Kae sat in the corner, his arms folded tight across his chest. His face gave away little, but his eyes—the smallest flicker of something deep and old—betrayed a battle waging inside him. He didn't speak, but his jaw clenched once before he gave a short, jerky nod.

  He would protect Colin. Even if he didn't understand him.

  Lyra didn’t even hesitate. She clutched Colin’s limp hand between both of hers, tears welling in her wide golden eyes. Her loyalty burned hot and reckless, and Bram knew she would shield Colin with her life if it came to it.

  For her, friendship was sacred.

  Nectarine stood stiffly at the foot of the bed, her hands wringing the hem of her tunic. Guilt warred with fear in her expression, fleeting and raw. She glanced once toward the door, then back at Colin—and something hardened behind her bright eyes.

  Whatever else was going on with her, she wasn’t leaving him. Not yet.

  Sskarin lingered by the window, the tip of her tail flicking sharp and restless. Her reptilian features were hard to read, but the way she shifted—poised between fight and flight—told Bram she was already calculating what might come next.

  The lizard’s loyalty was cold, but it was real.

  None of them backed down.

  None of them walked back their promises.

  None.

  Bram loved them all the more for it.

  Still, a part of him remained wary, a quiet knot of tension wound deep in his chest.

  He had worried most about Kae—the Frosk had trust issues older than some empires, and for good reason. But it seemed the caravan raid had changed something between him and Colin.

  There was a bond there now, raw and stubborn, forged in blood and survival.

  Maybe it would hold.

  Maybe it wouldn’t.

  Bram didn’t know.

  And yet... he couldn't ignore the gnawing voice in the back of his mind.

  This was dangerous information.

  Exactly the kind of secret a spy could use to shatter everything—to trade Colin's life for the safety of the caravan, for gold, for influence.

  And with the knowledge that a spy—a traitor—lurked somewhere close, Bram couldn’t shake the fear that Colin’s trust might yet be his undoing.

  But the boy had made his choice.

  Despite Bram’s warnings, despite the risks, Colin had decided to trust them.

  Bram could only pray that, when the dust settled, that trust wouldn’t be his greatest regret.

  ______________________________________________________________________________

  Day two was filled with Bram’s whispered prayers, Kae’s muttered superstitions, Lyra’s soft songs, and Nectar’s carefully brewed tinctures.

  Sskarin, ever the silent sentinel, took it upon herself to sit by Colin’s bedside through the long hours of the night, ensuring that no one unauthorized ever got close.

  Days three through ten blurred together into a heavy, unchanging rhythm.

  The party had settled into an uneasy routine—one member always stationed by Colin’s side, while the others took care of their dwindling supplies, scouted the area, or tried to rest.

  Grayne, grim-faced and practical, had made a decision early on.Without Bram and his people to guard the caravan, the risk was too great.

  He ordered the wagons to halt and sent a swift messenger ahead to the next town, carrying news and requesting reinforcements. Grayne himself visited the inn once or twice, standing awkwardly at the foot of Colin’s bed, offering Bram gruff condolences and stiff reassurances that he would do what he could.

  But there was little he—or anyone—could do.

  The days dragged, heavy with worry.

  The longer Colin slept, the more the weight of what-ifs pressed down on the group:

  What if he never woke? What if he woke changed? What if this was all their fault?

  And then, on the eleventh day, when even the last of their hopes had begun to quietly fray—

  Colin stirred.